


The Family Name

by beautifultoastdream



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Aholibah Lavellan, F/M, Family Stories, Fluff, Golems, Names, Pillow Talk, Pride, Snuggling, pride demons
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-10
Updated: 2017-06-10
Packaged: 2018-11-12 15:03:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11164359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifultoastdream/pseuds/beautifultoastdream
Summary: Relaxing in bed together, Cullen and his Inquisitor share family stories. Weird family stories. It turns out that between the demon legend and the golem rampage, a Rutherford and a Lavellan are actually a pretty good match. Mostly fluff, some humor.





	The Family Name

“It's a Tevinter name, isn't it?”

Aholibah Lavellan paused at the washbasin, damp rag in hand. Her sweat was rapidly drying in the chilly room, and the washwater was raising goosebumps on her naked skin. To combat the cold she had draped her lover's wine-red surcoat over her shoulders, and for a moment, she thought her hearing had been muffled by the thick black fur around the collar. She turned.

“What?”

“Your name. I couldn't find an exact match in any of the books, but most of the similar ones were Tevinter. I was just … wondering.”

Cullen was still in bed, but he had propped himself up on one arm so he could watch her wash. His own ablutions had been performed with the quick efficiency of long practice—Templars tried not to linger in vulnerable situations—but Aholibah had been dragging things out a little bit, silently enjoying the way he watched her. But considering the closeness of the moment, a question about her _name_ was hardly the first thing she'd expected.

Still, she could hardly fault him for asking. Most humans didn't even bother noticing Dalish names, let alone consider their origins or bother looking them up in books. She tilted her head, smiling a little as the fur tickled her jawline, and put the rag down.

“Yes and no,” she said. “It's a family name, so unless the library has some books on Clan Lavellan, it won't be in there. But yes, it did originally come from the Imperium.”

“It'll be in books soon enough,” he said, a touch of humor in his voice. “Maker help us, I think Varric is writing one already.” A moment's hesitation. “Forgive me for asking, I don't mean to pry, but …”

“But how does a clan from the Free Marches come to have a Tevinter name in its midst?” Aholibah wiped the last droplets of water off her arms and flicked them away. She could feel his gaze lingering on her still. “Are you sure you want to know? It's just an old Dalish story.”

The blankets rustled a little as he shifted. “I like your stories,” he said simply.

His words sent an unexpected pang through her heart. Even after months as the Herald of Andraste, it still surprised her sometimes that there were shemlen who would meet her as an equal. Clan Lavellan traded with the outsiders and cared enough about their strange politics to send their Keeper's First to the Conclave, but it had been as much out of survival as out of openmindedness. Every interaction had to be carefully weighed, and every friendship with shemlen or durgen'len rested on a knife-edge.

This story was not one shared with outsiders. Even among the other clans it was considered ridiculous, or even dangerous. Any other man, any other former Templar, and she wouldn't have told a word of it. But this man was Cullen, bold and blunt and _good,_ and she had already trusted him with her life and body.

“All right, but you have to promise not to smite me,” she said, giving him a smile to take any sting out of the words. “It's a rather strange old story, and it … it does involve dark magic.”

“I think I can manage to listen without panicking,” Cullen assured her with the utmost solemnity.

She laughed, shrugged out of the surcoat, and joined him on the bed. He wordlessly opened his arms, letting her curl into his warmth. Her head rested in the crook of his neck, and his pulse beat steadily beneath her ear. With his free arm he drew the blankets up over them both.

“It's just a myth, really,” she began. “Clan Lavellan … Well, we're old, and we like to say that we can trace our lines all the way back to Arlathan. It's not really true, but we go back further than most. Bloodlines are incredibly important to the clans, so we try to keep the records as straight as possible. There are gaps, though, and sooner or later everything just tapers off into rumors and legends.

“They say that Ages past, our clan gave shelter to an escaped slave. He had once been owned by a good man, a learned shem who desired to give him his freedom, but this shem died before the deed could be done. And so the slave was bound over to another master, who treated him cruelly and tried to break his will. When he escaped at last and came to the forest where Clan Lavellan dwelled, he was welcomed and given a place. In time he wed a woman of ours, the Keeper's Second. But though he was offered a true name, an Elvhen name, he chose to keep that which had been bestowed upon him by his first master. His name was Aholibos.”

Cullen stirred a little. “I saw that name in one of Dorian's books,” he said. “It was the closest to yours I could find. The book said it was a phrase from one of Tevinter's conquered tribes. Something about … temples?”

“It might have been. These things have a way of getting lost.” Aholibah sighed, thinking of Keeper Deshanna. A life spent struggling to preserve the scraps of the past had worn the Keeper to a shadow.

“According to the story, Aholibos refused to let his bride see him by moonlight. He said 'My scars shine palely then, and the moon sees that I was once a slave. I am ashamed.'

“His wife promised, but as the months passed her curiosity grew. 'Who is my husband,' she wondered, 'who fears a scar half-seen by night?' And so one night she crept from their bed in the aravel and raised the canvas, throwing full moonlight upon their bed.”

She paused for effect, just as the clan storyteller always did. Cullen, however, refused to oblige with a gasp of anticipation or fear. So she poked him in the ribs. “You're supposed to be on the edge of your seat,” she told him.

“I might be, if there wasn't a woman holding me down.”

“Fair enough.” She smiled and closed her eyes, slipping back into the comforting cadence of the story. Cullen's heart beat time beneath her ear, powerful and steady. “The light fell pale upon Aholibos. His scars shone indeed, silver as the moon that touched them. And as his wife watched, his sleeping form began to change.

“He grew, and grew, and grew, until she thought the walls of the aravel could not contain him. His flesh became stone, blue like opal and shining like lapis. His hands became claws, greater than any beast above or below the earth. And when his eyes opened, they were the gleaming gold of Pride.”

Cullen didn't gasp this time either. She hadn't been expecting it, really. This was a tale she had heard at campfires, where half a dozen children would circle around the clan storyteller and watch as hands and shadows made images to match the words, and they would of course make a show of gasping in terror at the revelation. It was all part of the game.

Still … the human who held her in his arms would not see it as an exciting story out of family history. He had his own reasons to fear demons. Yet though she thought his grip on her tightened a little, that slow steady drum of the heart barely skipped a beat.

“The thing called Aholibos rose. No aravel could hold him now. Canvas tore upon his horns, wood splintered beneath his feet. He looked down upon she who was his wife, and he spoke.

“'You have failed,' he said, and his voice was thunder that rent the Veil around them. 'If you had kept your peace a year and a day, I would have been your husband forever. Now the spell is broken, and you shall not live out the night.'

“She who was his wife trembled before him, but she would not fall and beg. 'Strike, then!'' she cried. 'I will die Dalish and unafraid!'

“The demon who had been Aholibos smiled. 'You are proud,' he said. 'I could have been your husband in peace, wedded to such. Now I must do as my nature commands. For it is not only you, but your clan who must die.'

“He towered over her, his claws tipped with lightning, but she who was his wife would not stand aside. Her clan fled around her, abandoning the halla and the aravels. She held out a hand to halt the demon in his path.

“'Husband,' she said to him. 'Know this. I am prepared to die. But spare me and mine, and your name shall echo down through the ages, for I carry your child within me.'

“The demon's laughter shook the forest. 'So shall it be!' he said. 'But you who have been my wife, who carry my child within you—know this. Pride shall be your legacy forever. So long as my name lives within your clan and your pride is high and worthy, my gift will be yours. But the day it fails, my prey you shall be at last.

“'Ar lath ma, proud Lavellan.'

“The world trembled about them as the Veil was rent asunder, and the demon who was her husband returned to the Fade from whence he had came. And from that day to this, the gift of Pride lives on within Lavellan blood.”

Aholibah took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. For a moment the world seemed to sing around her, still reverberating with the last few words of the old tale. She was warm and safe and loved, and a hundred memories of campfire nights and stories wrapped her in comforting joy.

But she didn't need to look up to know that Cullen was scrutinizing her now. She could feel his eyes on her. He was looking at Aholibah Lavellan, whose eyes were yellow, whose hair was a gray-black so deep it was almost slaty blue, whose vallaslin was the color of opals, who reached for lightning as easily as breathing. She knew he still had a special hatred for demons and abominations, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. The nostalgic warmth of storytelling vanished, replaced by a sudden surge of dread.

He seemed to sense her shift in mood. Letting out a soft breath, he twisted to press a kiss to the sensitive tip of her ear. “Do you think that's what really happened?” he asked.

Aholibah relaxed again, feeling a little foolish. “Unlikely,” she said. “I'm sure Varric would love it if it did—“ A huff of laughter from her human lover, who was no doubt imagining the lurid book covers already “—but it's just an old family legend. Solas tells me that wisdom spirits can become pride demons, so maybe there really was a spirit who was warped by a bad master. But more likely, some Lavellan became an abomination long ago, and the story was created to explain that.” She shook her head. “Though that would be incredibly reckless—claiming your ancestor was a demon in an elf body rather than an elf who became corrupted.”

“I don't know,” Cullen said softly. “At least Aholibos could be reasoned with.”

Demons might be bad, but bringing up abominations was probably worse. Best not to follow that line of talk.

“Keeper Deshanna once told me it was just a tale made up by the other clans to explain why we Lavellans are always so …” She wrinkled her nose. “What would you say? Stuck-up?” That made him chuckle again, thank the Creators. “But there's been an Aholibos or an Aholibah in over a dozen generations, and it's always someone with the family eyes.”

“Were they mages, too?”

“No, not usually.” Aholibah frowned, recalling the family trees her mother had recited. Aholibos the Pride demon might be a distant legend, but the clans were much firmer on the more recent past. “There was one … my, um, great-grandmother's … aunt? She had some lightning magic too, I think. They called her 'Spark-Touched.' But there were too many mages in the clan then, and she was given to Clan Tareni to be their Keeper's Second. She changed her name to Lissara when she left.”

“Why would she do that?”

“Why wouldn't she?”

He let out a soft huff of breath and tilted his head back a little. “I think this might be one of those Dalish things I don't understand,” he said wryly. “When a human woman marries she might change her family name, but the other name, never.”

“It's difficult to explain if you didn't grow up with the clans,” Aholibah agreed. “But it's …” She sighed. “Being Dalish is difficult. Solas is right about some of it, you know. We can be too, too, _insular._ But we've got so little that we hold on to what we have for dear life. She didn't _have_ to change her name, but she felt like she owed it to the clan to leave behind something that belonged to them.”

“Would you change your name?” He ran his thumb gently over the tip of her ear. “If you left the clan.”

She twitched her head a little, swatting his thumb away with her ear and making him chuckle deep in his chest. “I already have.”

“Changed your name?”

“Left the clan.”

Silence stretched out between them. She felt a sigh in his chest that never made it out into the air. His throat tensed as he started to say half a dozen different things, only for each to die before a sound came out.

“Did I …” he finally began, and Aholibah stopped him with two fingers on his lips.

How was she supposed to explain this to him? That she was Dalish and Lavellan, would be Dalish and Lavellan until she died, but she had already been separated from the clan by circumstances not under her control. Falling out of the Fade made her a freak in the eyes of the Dalish, but being acclaimed as the Herald of Andraste made her a danger.

It was the family story all over again: when scrabbling for survival and knowledge, you clung to what you had and ostracized the hazardous elements. If you looked sideways at a clan who had a demon story in their family lore, how would you treat one that brought forth a supposed herald of the shemlen prophetess? The statues all across the Exalted Plains were evidence enough of the disaster wrought on elvhenkind by Andraste's followers. The moment the word “Herald” crossed the first human's mind, Aholibah Lavellan was going to be separated from her clan.

“It wasn't anything you did,” she said softly. “I could be in bed with the most respectably Dalish man possible, and I would still be out-clan. The Anchor saw to that. I've made my peace with it—especially since it gave me the chance to help my family at Wycome.”

She twisted a little, shooting him an impish grin. “But I'm not changing my name. I've only just gotten everyone spelling it right.”

Cullen chuckled. “I should hope so. I've gotten quite used to it, myself.” He pressed another kiss to her ear, making her blush involuntarily as he nipped the sensitive skin. “But I suppose there are downsides to any family name. Being a Rutherford in Honnleath could be … embarrassing.”

Aholibah recognized a redirection tactic when she heard one, but she was grateful nevertheless. The awkward topic of the story and Cullen's questions, coupled with her lover's fleeting fear that he had been the cause of her exile, had left her well in the mood to change the subject. And besides, Cullen volunteering information about his home was rare enough to savor. “Oh?” she said. “Does the Commander of the Inquisition have dark family history? Creators! Whatever will his noble suitors think?”

“I doubt any of them 'think,'” Cullen said. “But some of my forebears had a reputation for, er, eccentricity. It made for some very tiresome running jokes.”

“An eccentric Fereldan. How unusual. Did they prefer cats?”

“I said eccentric, not mad,” Cullen retorted. “But yes, some Rutherfords have had a reputation. Most of us are extremely respectable, but my father's elder brother ran away to join the Qunaris and my mother's uncle had an extremely irritable golem.”

“A g—“ Of all the things she'd been expecting, neither of those were on the list. “A _golem?”_ she said finally. “And why have I never heard about this Qunari relative of yours? Is there a Rutherford connection the Inquisition could be using in Par Vollen?”

“Maker forbid. Apparently, the Arishok at the time wasn't open to accepting human converts, and he became a wandering mystic instead. Claimed he had been enlightened and could predict the future by drinking from someone else's cup. Father used to get letters from him. Usually asking for money.”

“That's not so eccentric.”

“I somehow doubt that.”

“Cullen, you're _in bed_ with a wandering mystic.”

“Yes, but you don't try to take anyone else's drink.”

“I'm sorry, I don't accept that. Try again.” Aholibah smiled up at him. “What about the golem? How did a golem come to a little village in Ferelden?”

Cullen shrugged his free shoulder. “How it ended up there, I haven't an idea. My great-uncle must have found its control rod, but nobody in the village wanted to discuss it. It … er … got out of control before it could be shut down.” His lip twisted wryly. “I never knew my great-uncle.”

“That's not as funny as the drinking mystic.”

“It was funny before I knew that the golem was also the statue in the center of town. When my siblings were being annoying, I used to go out there and pretend that statue was a rebellious apostate. Made it my territory.” He chuckled. “It probably still has my initials carved into it, wherever it is now.”

Aholibah paused. Then: “Didn't you say the Hero of Ferelden once came through your home village?”

“Yes.”

“And she did have a golem with her, didn't she?”

“She did indeed.”

“So … instead of a possible Qunari connection, there may be a reawakened golem somewhere in the world, wandering around with your initials in its leg?”

Cullen colored slightly. “Not precisely in its leg. Someplace more … backsideish.”

The Herald of Andraste's laughter could be heard clear out on the battlements.

**Author's Note:**

> This was inspired by a weird set of coincidences in my DAI game. My Inquisitor, Aholibah Lavellan, has a design heavily favoring blue and gray, and she uses lightning and Rift magic most commonly. She was also named after a Biblical figure with connotations of lust and corruption. Then I fought my first Pride Demon in-game and realized just how awkwardly similar they were. Talk about family demons ...


End file.
